Enter the shadowed mind of Dr. Grimoire, a man who has spent his life delving into the darkest corners of existence-where death and despair reign, and hope withers like the last flicker of a dying flame. In Whispers from the Abyss, Grimoire unearths...
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She sits across from me, eyes cast down, her fingers tracing invisible lines on her wrist. The air between us is thick with silence, the weight of her unspoken pain hanging like a shadow over the room. Her words, when they come, are whispers, thin as the thread she clings to.
"I loved him," she says, and I hear the tremor in her voice, the crack beneath the surface. "He never wanted it, never asked for it, but I gave it to him. All of it. Every part of me."
---
"And he refused it," I say, pushing, knowing I need to draw the poison out, knowing she'll hate me for it. Her lips tighten, her hands clench into fists. "Yes," she whispers, her voice sharp, cutting like glass. "He refused it. He refused me."
I see the storm in her eyes, quiet but brewing, and I push harder. "And now? Do you think he's given his heart to someone else? Do you think he's found someone else to love him in the way you couldn't?"
Her head snaps up, fury flashing across her face, her eyes blazing with the force of her anger. "Don't," she spits, her voice venom. "Don't say it. You don't know. You don't know anything."
---
I lean forward, my voice low, unwavering. "I know enough. I know that you're still tethered to him, still bound to a love that was never yours, a love he never wanted. You gave him everything, and he walked away. And now you're sitting here, letting the void in your chest devour you."
Her hands tremble, her eyes narrowing into slits of fury. "You think I don't know that?" she snaps, her voice rising, her fists trembling. "You think I don't know that he never loved me? That I was never enough for him? I know it. I know it every day. It's the only thing I know."
---
"You don't know him," I say, my voice a sharp edge, driving deeper into the wound. "You don't know what he's done, who he's given his heart to now. And that's what kills you, isn't it? Not that he left- but that he's probably loving someone else, someone who isn't you."
The tears spill over, and she doesn't wipe them away. Her hands press hard against her chest, as if she's holding herself together, as if the void inside her might crack her open if she lets go.
---
"I don't know who he's with," she says, her voice broken, barely a whisper. "I don't know if he's found someone else. But I think about it. I think about it every day. How he could be out there, loving someone else, someone who isn't me. And it kills me. It kills me, because I gave him everything and he threw it away like it was nothing."
---
"And now," I say, my voice soft but firm, "you're letting that emptiness define you. You're letting his rejection become your identity. You've built your life around a man who never wanted you, and it's destroying you."
Her hands shake harder, and she presses her knuckles to her lips, biting back the sob that's rising in her throat. "I didn't ask for this," she says, her voice trembling. "I didn't ask to love him. I didn't ask for him to be the one who made me feel like this."
---
"But you did love him," I say, "and you gave him everything, and he turned away. You can't change that. But you can stop letting it tear you apart. You're clinging to the idea of him, to the pain of losing him, because it's the only thing you have left. But what you don't see is that it's not him you're holding onto- it's the pain itself. You've let the rejection become your anchor, and it's sinking you."
---
Her face crumples, the tears falling freely now, her body shaking with the weight of everything she's been holding inside. "I don't know how to stop," she whispers, her voice broken. "I don't know how to let go. He was all I had. He was everything. And now- now there's nothing. There's just this void. This emptiness."
I sit back, letting her words fill the space between us. She's crumbling, but she needs to. She needs to fall apart before she can find herself again.
---
"The void isn't him," I say, my voice gentle now. "It's you. It's the space inside you where you've let the rejection take root. It's the darkness you've been feeding with your grief, with your sorrow, with the idea that you were never enough for him. But the truth is, he was never enough for you."
Her eyes meet mine, wide and filled with pain, and I see the storm, swirling, raging. "I don't know who I am without him," she whispers, her voice trembling. "I don't know how to live without that pain."
---
"You're more than the love you lost," I say, my voice steady, strong. "You're more than the woman he walked away from. You've let him define you for too long, let his rejection become your prison. But you're the one who holds the key. You're the one who can set yourself free."
Her hands unclench, her shoulders slumping as the storm quiets, but the war inside her is still raging. She doesn't speak, but I can see it- the battle between holding on and letting go.
And as she rises from her chair, her steps unsteady but deliberate, I know she hasn't made her choice yet. But I hope, for her sake, that one day, she will look into the void and fill it with something more than his rejection.
---
The End... For Now.
A Note to Readers: If you are drawn to the melancholic and stirring nature of poems like this, check out the works of AudacityAllie for more deeply emotional and introspective pieces.
